


The Saloon

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Series: Tales Of Suplex City [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Holiday Trope, M/M, Multi, Porn with too much plot, Sheambrose, Wrestle AU: Suplex City, cameos cameos everywhere, mostly an excuse to write domestic AF Sheamus O'Shaunessy, reader has female body parts, thirst party saturday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: Heavily inspired by the WWE 2K17 "Suplex City" advertisement, though I’ve never touched the game. [Alternate Universe]
Enjoy!
[x-posted to Tumblr]





	

The Spinnarooni creaked menacingly over you as you crept through the darkness. Suplex City wasn’t exactly a great place to wander about on your own, at night _or_ during the day. But ever since Del Rio Import And Export had gone out of business you'd been out of a job, and out on your ass. The streets were your home now, and the City didn't take kindly to people down on their luck.

 

The old hearse drove by for the third time and you shivered. The Deadman must be working hard tonight, probably at it again with the Wyatts. You did your best to steer clear of the turf wars between Acolytes and Family, and so far you’d been pretty successful.

 

While keeping your attention on your own level had saved your skin on more than one occasion, you knew you couldn’t ignore the rooftops. Too many bodies falling for there to be nothing going on up there. You chanced a glance up, spying a figure in odd neon green and black spandex swinging his way from windowsill to windowsill. Rollins with that superhero complex of his. He’d break his damn neck someday.

 

You rolled your eyes and continued on. Dinner for the evening looked like the alley out behind Brogue Kick Saloon again. Deli Rio’s had closed at the same time as your former workplace, and it wasn’t exactly like you had the money to enjoy a sandwich from The Bulgarian Brute. Sometimes you had luck getting a hand out at Empire. The guy who owned the place seemed decent enough. You hated frequenting one area, though. Patterns meant predictable, and predictable got people killed.

 

The Brogue Kick Saloon, however, was easy to sneak to unnoticed, and as long as that Ambrose guy didn't catch you rummaging through the dumpster when he tossed out the trash and too-rowdy patrons, you were free to pick up scraps as you saw fit. The alley looked deserted when you approached on silent feet, though some 'fireflies' gleamed in the distance. You shivered again, your rumbling stomach urging you on. _Just really quick, nice and easy. I'll be gone before anyone notices me._

 

…

 

“ _The kid's back, Shea.” Dean observed, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he peered through the tiny window set in the back door of the bar. “Fourth time this month. I don't think it's a trick anymore.”  
_

_From his spot leaning against the bar, the large Irishman sighed and twisted his fingers meditatively through the tips of his mohawk. “If I give one of 'em somn'eet, all the rats come runnin' Ambrose. Ya' know tha'.”_

 

“ _Yeah but they're always alone. And it isn't like you can't spare the food.” Dean gestured at the popcorn machine on the bar slowly churning away. Sheamus chuckled quietly. “C'mon man. I've warned 'em off a few times now. I'm **kinda'** formidable. They wouldn't come back if they weren't desperate.”_

 

“ _Dammit Ambrose, what'll the customers say?” Sheamus grumbled._

 

“ _We ain't even **open** yet Shea. Five minutes, and a bowl of that kickass colcannon. Get a hot meal in 'em before the real chill kicks in.” Ambrose knew he already had his boss, but he figured a little extra push wouldn't hurt. “You always talk about how your colcannon 'sticks to ribs', let's see whether it holds up. Pretty sure they're thin enough to show 'em off at this point.”_

 

“ _Christ fella', pilin' on the fuckin' guilt eh? What, ya' tryin' to 'appeal to my sensibilities' or whatever the fuck?” Sheamus waved him off. “Five minutes. Get it fuckin' done, Ambrose.”_

 

…

 

The back door of the saloon opened and the shaft of light from it sent you scrambling back towards the shadows in a panic. _Shit, he saw me!_ The grizzled-looking Ambrose shoved his hair back from his face, keen blue eyes searching the darkness. “I know you're out here, kid.” His voice was quieter than it had been the other times he'd shooed you off. “Shea gave me the okay to give you some dinner. Get your ass up here and eat, but you _gotta'_ leave after that, alright?”

 

There was a steaming bowl cradled in the crook of his elbow, and a hunk of thick bread in his hand. You hadn't had much luck digging in the garbage. Only the sad remains of an apple and many, _many_ shriveled-up lemon wedges from drinks had turned up. Your stomach twisted longingly at the sight of the bread.

 

You crept from behind the dumpster, squinting in the light from the door. Ambrose crouched down, holding out the bread. “It's fresh. Shea starts cookin' at ass o' clock every morning.” He looked concerned. “ _Damn_ , you're bony. No takers at the orphanage, huh?”

 

You shook your head, still slowly moving towards him. Was it your imagination, or was he pulling the bread _away_ from you? Terrified, you lunged forward and snatched it out of his hand. He was quicker than he looked though, snagging your wrist and holding you tight. You quickly tossed the piece of bread to your empty hand and ripped a massive chunk out of it with your teeth, glaring defiantly at Ambrose while you chewed loudly.

 

His laughter caught you off-guard. “Christ kid, ain't gotta' look at me like that. Just wanted to see...you...” Ambrose swallowed hard, his eyes widening as he took you in under the harsh light by the door. “You are _not_ a kid.” he finally said.

 

You shook your head.

 

“My bad. Uh. Eat that. S' good.” Ambrose mumbled, releasing your hand and pressing the bowl into your grasp. It was warm, so warm. It burned your fingers a little bit. The remaining piece of bread worked excellently as a shovel to get as much of the hot mass that resembled mashed potatoes into your mouth as quickly as possible. “Easy, easy. You'll give yourself a stomach ache.” he chided. You barely paid him any mind though.

 

“Ya' take care of the kid, Ambrose? We're abou' ready t' open up.” You'd only seen the owner of the Brogue Kick a few times, and every time the redness of his hair startled you anew. O'Shaunessy was dressed in what appeared to be his normal attire. A button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and a vest. Tonight the vest was a soft shade of gray. He stood in the doorway over Ambrose, clicking his tongue. “Wee mite, ain'che?” he said, not unkindly.

 

“They're not exactly a _kid_ , Shea.” Ambrose grunted. “Good shit, right?” he asked you, and you nodded warily in reply. “Boss makes it, says it's his mom's recipe. All I know is it's fuckin' thick and hot; there's bacon in it somewhere.”

 

“It's _colcannon_. Ya' remembered the name when y' were fuckin' inside.” O'Shaunessy huffed.

 

You finished what was in the bowl, licking the rim of it clean and then wiping your mouth on your sleeve. Something clattered in the darkness at the end of the alley, and all three of you turned to look. A lone member of the Family stood there, ragged sheep mask floating out of the dark above the lantern held in a grimy hand.

 

“Oh I don' fuckin' _think_ so, git!” O'Shaunessy yelled, shaking his fist at the eerie sight. The Family still sent chills down your spine but obviously O'Shaunessy had dealt with them on more than one occasion. “I'll come o'er there an' go full _Laoch_ on ya' arse, _I said git!_ ” he roared, taking a step down the stairs. The lantern vanished, nothing but a haunting laugh ringing in the air. A manhole cover clanked loudly. “S' fuckin' ridic'lous. I really ough' tae bolt th' fuckin' thing down tae the asphal’.” he growled, his accent thickening in irritation.

 

Footsteps thundered from the street and four or five Acolytes flew by, making O'Shaunessy holler something after them that was probably not very polite. Ambrose huffed, getting to his feet and then busting into laughter when another figure rounded the corner from the street. It was the owner of Empire, his long black hair a frazzled mess. He looked out of breath and pissed off.

 

“You guys see 'em go by?” he panted, leaning over and putting his hands on his knees for a minute. “Christ.”

 

“Yeah Reigns, but they're probably halfway to the Casket by now. There was a _group_ of 'em, you dumb shit.” Ambrose scolded. “You know better than to try and take those guys on. Too many knives.”

 

“Motherfuckers were in my back room. They trashed the place. I lost my cool.” Reigns grimaced, fighting his hair back into some semblance of order.

 

You snuck off in the chaos, leaving the three men to argue among themselves about opening the saloon for the evening or heading off after the Acolytes. It was none of your business what they wanted to do. Feeding you had been kind, yeah, but you sure as hell weren't hanging around for the bullshit that would ensue.

 

You'd survived this long by being cautious and sticking to the shadows, and it was that technique that saw you back to the old fairgrounds on the outskirts of the city. You'd never been happier to have the gutted carcass of the Ferris wheel groaning in the breeze over your head as you huddled next to a giant support and closed your eyes. Your stomach was full for the first time in ages, and you drifted off to sleep as the moon sank behind the skyline.

 

…

 

The hot meal faded into a longing memory. You avoided both Empire and Brogue Kick like the plague, not wanting to press your luck by being spotted at either locale. But pickings were slim across the city. Not to mention the fast-approaching winter hung over your head. What would you do when the temperatures dropped even lower and you were sleeping outside? Shelters were full, overflowing. You wondered idly as you dug through the dumpster behind The Bulgarian Brute what crime you would have to commit to be put in prison over the winter.

 

Nothing too drastic. Maybe an attempted robbery. You shook your head at yourself. _I'm not hungry enough to be thinking that way_.

 

A large hand landed on the scruff of your neck and you were hefted bodily into the street. You slowly picked yourself back up, blinking away the tears. Rusev bellowed at you, ending with a furious shout of “ _Machka!_ ” and then storming back to his restaurant.

 

_Serves me right for being careless_ , you thought sadly, stuffing your hands into your pockets and heading off down the street. _Maybe..._

 

Your stomach, nothing in it but a stale piece of bread, flip-flopped uneasily as you mulled over your next step. Maybe...you _had_ something to offer, in exchange for food. Your hygiene was a cut above the average homeless person in Suplex City thanks to a jimmied-open window at the shelter, though you had to be careful not to get caught. Someone _always_ investigated a shower turning on at four in the morning. You weren't hard on the eyes, at least _you_ didn't think so.

 

Your stomach turned again when you recalled the way Ambrose had looked at you when he realized you _weren’t_ a child. You nodded shakily, flipping the collar of your coat up against the chill wind that was already whipping through the streets. _Probably beats trying to plan a one-person robbery_.

 

Your minimal confidence faded the closer you got to the saloon, and you stood on the street next to the alley behind the place for a few minutes. You shifted from foot to foot, cupping your hands and blowing into them to keep them warm. _Am I really going to do this? Sure, it's not robbery, but...well. How much am I even worth? Food? Food and shelter?_ Your mind whirled with the logistics of what you planned to do, body slinking into the alleyway.

 

Same tattered posters, same overfilled dumpster. A set of legs extended from the dumpster and loud snoring could be heard. You sighed. Another drunk, deposited into their bed for the night. You glanced over at the stairs leading up to the back door of Brogue Kick, and you quickly did a double take.

 

Ambrose was sitting on the steps, his chin propped up in his hand and eyes closed. Beside him was a bowl that was still wafting steam into the cold night air and a small plate with some kind of cake on it. His mouth was slightly open, his whole face gone slack with slumber. You gulped. When he was asleep, he didn't look quite so...aggressive. Your gaze shifted to the plate. That cake...

 

That cake looked _really_ good.

 

Silently you crept to the stairs, pausing to shoot the man sitting there a nervous look. Ambrose appeared to be quite out. It was impressive that he was still upright. The bowl was full of the same potato and cabbage concoction you'd had the other night from the looks of it. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped when you wrapped your hands around the bowl, the heat of it warming your chilled fingers. You fumbled with the spoon for a second, the metal making a ringing sound on the side of the bowl.

 

It was just as good as you remembered, and you closed your eyes to savor the sensation of eating real food again.

 

“ _Finally_.”

 

Your eyes shot open and you flinched back. Ambrose was staring at you. He looked almost bored. “The boss and I weren't sure if you were gonna' come back. Shit, I've been sittin' out here every night for half the damn month. The fuck have you been?” You shook your head and his eyebrows furrowed. “You in some kinda' trouble? Ain't much for talkin'.”

 

You shook your head again and he snorted. “Just ignore me, eat up. Gotta' chat afterwards though. Shea's worried about you.” The confusion must have been plain on your face because Ambrose sighed and scooted the plate full of cake towards you. “Eat.”

 

Eat you did, the whole time your brain swirling anxiously with what they could possibly want. Ambrose watched you like a hawk, probably ready to grab you if you tried to escape. Your hands started to shake as you finished off the last crumbs of the cake.

 

“Better? Ready to talk now?” Ambrose asked. You nodded slowly. “The boss and I…we know you must have nowhere to go, what with the weather getting colder n’ people clamorin’ for shelters.” He exhaled heavily, staring off at the wall across from the stairs. “This ain’t gonna’ be the first time Shea’s stuck his neck out for a stranger, understand? I’d like to think that it turned out okay the last time he did it, but I’m a little…biased.” Ambrose turned his gaze to his hands in his lap. “Big guy dragged my scrawny ass outta’ the Underground kickin’ and screamin’. I haven’t looked back since. He’s a good fuckin’ man, hear me? A _good_ man. Hard to come by in this shit hole of a city.”

 

Your eyes had narrowed as he spoke. The Underground was...the Family lived down there, with their Beast and Viper. _Other_ things lived down there too. A man who was rumored to always have a mass of worms wriggling from his mouth. The terrifying recluse known simply as The Butcher. Kane. Viscera. Gangrel. _Mankind_. The list went on, each entry more unsettling than the last. Man-beasts, sadists and killers, demons and their kings of all shapes and sizes. It had been easy to dismiss the stories when you had a roof over your head and a job to keep you occupied, but having all of that jerked out from beneath you had forced you to confront the fact that the stories may be very, _very_ true.

 

Ambrose had come from _there?_ Maybe this had been a bad choice. He was still talking though. “Shea gave me a job. Gave me my fuckin’ humanity back. A few other things. He’s offering the same to you, long story shorter.” Ambrose explained, shoving his hands into the pockets of his battered leather jacket. “He says if you can handle cleanin’ or helping out with the re-up shipments, there’s a spot you can sleep and three hot meals in it for you. It’ll probably be the same thing as me, where you’ll hang out for a trial period and then he’ll draft you a contract.”

 

_Food. Safe sleeping area._ You nodded your head furiously, making Ambrose chuckle and reach a hand out to you. “I’ll bring you inside then. We’ll talk with Shea. Oh! I’m Dean, by the way.” He said belatedly, getting to his feet.

 

You shook his hand and he pulled you up easily. “C’mon. It’s a slow night so I’m sure it’ll be fine if you head in with me.” Ambrose ( _Dean_ ) opened the door behind him, calling, “Boss!”

 

“ _What_ Ambrose, tha’ fuckin' muscly toothpick Neville give ya’ a run for ya’ money?” O'Shaunessy replied, his voice coming from a room off to the side that you could only assume was the kitchen. “Cannae’ even believe the fella was in here by fuckin’ _two_. Musta’ been a hard…” He trailed off as he walked through the swinging kitchen doors and saw you standing there awkwardly beside Ambrose. “Mite! We been worried sick abou’che. Ambrose made ya’ the offer, I take it?”

 

You nodded, taking a cautious step forward and extending a hand to the tall redhead. He shook it after a minute, a serious expression on his face. “I expect ya’ t’ work hard, alrigh’? Ambrose o’er here earns his keep by tossin’ the rowdy folk out. Ye’re a bit frail for tha’ sort o’ work, so ya’ can help me in the kitchen or pickin’ up abou’ the place. If tha’ don’t strike ya’ as a fair arrangemen’, ya’ can leave any time ya’ like.”

 

You shook your head frantically.

 

O'Shaunessy cleared his throat. “Ah, do ya’ _talk_ at all, by chance?”

 

“No.” you said quietly, your voice rusty from lack of use. Dean snickered and O'Shaunessy full-on laughed.

 

…

 

O'Shaunessy (or Sheamus, as he insisted you call him) got up usually by five in the morning to start the day’s work. He would come shuffling out of the room he and Dean shared, yawn a “ _G’mornin’_ ” in your direction, and head to the shower. You slept on a mattress in the hallway. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it felt like heaven to you. After months of sleeping beneath the Ferris wheel though, you found it hard to drift off without the soothing racket of the metal structure. Good old Spinnarooni.

 

Sheamus did a _lot_ of baking and cooking. You were a little surprised at the volume of product gone at the end of the night, but you always had a bowl of some rich, flavorful stew (Sheamus called it ' _the soup deeje or_ ', much to your amusement) and a thick slice of warm bread waiting for you once you finished helping Ambrose stack the chairs and sweep. Dean would usually regale you with tales while you ate, talking at length about his time spent living on the streets or fighting through the Underground.

 

Sometimes Sheamus would come and lean against the doorframe of the kitchen to listen in, drying glasses and throwing out a snide comment or two when Dean got a little... _zealous_ with his stories. Ambrose didn't shy away from gory details, even when he probably _should_ have, painting colorful pictures of what people could do to one another if given time, resources, and minimal supervision.

 

Sheamus was much quieter about his own experiences before opening the saloon. You got the feeling that there may have been a serious rift between him and his parents. He mentioned fleetingly one day while elbow-deep in flour that he'd gotten the recipe for bread from his mother, “ _an' it's a good thing I go' it when I did._ ” His face had darkened and he'd started pummeling the dough a little harder than normal.

 

You'd gone and fetched Dean, tugging him along by the sleeve of his coat and then shoving him into the kitchen and closing the door behind you. That was the only thing you could think of to brighten Sheamus back up. Dean, for all his lack of tact, was very, _very_ good at getting O'Shaunessy to laugh. And once he started it took him forever to stop, usually ending up with smudges of flour or baking powder on his face from wiping his tears of mirth away.

 

You discovered they were a couple entirely by accident. Sheamus (who normally kept a battered-looking mug full of kinda' coffee-mostly whiskey in the kitchen by his elbow) indulged a bit too much and ended up getting a little _loud_ with Ambrose after they'd gone to bed one night.

 

You had tried to ignore the sounds, flipping your pillow up over your head. The _last_ thing you wanted to think about was your two incredibly attractive bosses going at it in the room next to you. At least, that's what you told yourself.

 

_I wonder whether Sheamus' voice is all husky from drinking or from getting his cock sucked._ You shook your head, digging down deeper into the blankets. Sheamus groaned loudly and Ambrose's soft whimper in reply sent a thrill through your body. You felt yourself blush. _Wonder if they know I’m listening_. The walls weren't thick, they _had_ to know. And only _one_ of them was drunk.

 

“ _Fuck's sake, Shea_ -” Ambrose at least sounded like he was _trying_ to be quiet. Your stomach twisted at the desperation in his voice and you rolled onto your side, torn between imagining what was going on in the next room and feeling wrong for doing so...

 

_Sheamus easily maneuvered you into a position he preferred, and your hands fell to his chest. Pale skin flushed beneath your fingers, his eyes closing when you kissed him softly. Ambrose tugged your chin away, kissing you himself while he worked a hand down Sheamus' stomach to unbutton his slacks_...

 

You woke up late the next morning, surprised to find that it was after nine. A note was propped up on the windowsill above your bed, and you opened it while stifling a yawn.

 

_Sorry about last night. We get kind of rowdy sometimes. When you wake up, Shea wants to talk with you._

 

Despite being short, the note was rife with misspelled words. You shook your head and got to your feet.

 

Sheamus looked none the worse for the wear, greeting you with his usual “G'mornin _'_ ” and pushing a bowl of hot cereal towards you across the giant butcher block table that was his prep space. “K.G., crème fraiche an' honey.” He gestured at each item as he spoke, “So ya' can doctor it as y' see fit.”

 

Sheamus worked silently for a few minutes while you ate, finally sighing heavily and propping his hands up on the butcher block. “I take it ya' heard Ambrose an' I carryin' on las' nigh'.” When you nodded he winced. “I know we're all adults here so I'm no' abou' t' apologize. I jus'...well, maybe I _am_ abou' t' apologize.” he admitted. “Didn' mean to keep ya' up.”

 

You shook your head, hopping down from your stool and circling around the table to him. With your heart pounding in your chest you took his hand, tugging him down a little bit and carefully pressing a honey-sticky kiss to his cheek.

 

“Well, isn't this cute.” Ambrose drawled from the doorway, raising an eyebrow when you moved back guiltily. “What, no kiss for me? Cold as _ice_ , ain't you?” he grinned, dimples proudly displayed. He tapped his cheek. “C'mon, pay up. Right here.”

 

Sheamus chuckled as you sheepishly padded to Ambrose and gave him a peck on the cheek. Dean caught you around the waist, his face gone oddly serious. “We're a package deal. What you do to him, you do to me. Got it?” he asked quietly. You nodded, and his expression softened. “Good.”

 

The following kiss on the mouth left you breathless and confused. And Sheamus was no help when you looked over at him, just giving you a cheeky wink before continuing to cut apples. You threw your hands up in exasperation and stormed back upstairs to get dressed.

 

…

 

With November on the horizon Sheamus seemed to sink deeper and deeper into a funk. Eventually not even Ambrose could perk him up. You took it upon yourself to try and make him smile at least once a day, enlisting the help of the older man who owned the florist shop down the street. William Regal (of Royal Arrangements) cut you a deal on ‘gently-used’ flowers, usually filling a small cardboard box for you to take around four in the afternoon. You would bring them back to the Brogue and sit in the foyer before Sheamus opened up for the night, picking through for the best flowers and fill. Dean had huffed when you first started saving chipped glasses and bottles to stuff with the brightly-colored blooms, grunting “ _we’re a bar, not a fuckin’ country club_ ”, but when he saw O'Shaunessy smile briefly, he snapped his mouth shut.

 

Soon you had a cup at every table and a bottle balanced precariously on the old jukebox by the door, all filled to the brim with decent-looking roses or lilies. Regal started staying longer in the evenings, nursing his customary glass of stout and chatting with Sheamus over the bar.

 

It was busier than usual this particular night and you were constantly gathering up empty glasses to wash or running after cue balls from the pool table. One of the men who worked security at Empire, Baron, had a terrible habit of hooking the ball up over the edge of the table. “Sorry about that, I guess I'm a little too lanky for this shit.” he apologized after you brought the ball back for the third time, rumpling your hair and finally giving up on the game.

 

Ambrose was suddenly behind you, a hand on the small of your back. “No touchin', big guy. The boss ain't fond of it.” he said quietly.

 

Baron took a step back, raising his hands. “Got it.” he mumbled, darting his eyes over towards the bar. Sheamus looked positively _thunderous_ , entirely ignoring Regal's attempt to have a conversation with him in favor of glaring at the tall man who had mussed your hair.

 

“Ya' alrigh'?” The redhead called over the racket of the crowded establishment. It took you a second to realize he was asking _you_. You nodded hastily, smiling in what you hoped was a reassuring manner.

 

“I'm just...I'm gonna' go. Sorry again.” Baron said, quickly tossing the pool cue to the small woman behind him and heading for the door.

 

“He gets this way every year.” Regal confided softly when Sheamus ducked into the kitchen to check on the evening's _soup deeje or_. “He appeared on our strip almost ten years back to the date. Purchased this old place up front and did most of the rebuilding himself. He wasn't much for talking back then.” William sighed heavily. “I suppose he still isn't. The rumor mill had some _terrible_ things to say about him showing up all of a sudden. Everything from trouble with his parents back home to running from a murder charge. I've heard it all, I'm afraid.” He fixed you with a serious look. “You don't listen to any of those gossiping biddies, understand? You're a kind soul. Some of the things people say about him _and_ Ambrose are not...I would not repeat them in front of gentle company.”

 

You asked Ambrose about Sheamus later that night, curiosity getting the best of you. You still rarely spoke, so Dean had to stoop a little to hear your question. After he did though, his mouth tightened into a thin line. He took you aside in the foyer, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Sheamus was still in the kitchen.

 

“Shea is...he's got too big of a heart.” Ambrose sounded sad when he finally spoke. “His parents weren't too keen on him bein' the way he is. I mean, he's like me, y'know. If they're pretty, ask to bang them or ask them to bang you. That kinda' shit. His parents just didn't uh. Approve of the fact that to him, a lot of different people could be attractive. They kicked him out right before Thanksgiving, said he was no good for their family.”

 

You put your hands over your mouth, shocked. Ambrose shook his head, making a disgusted noise in his throat. “To this day I still can't believe that shit. I'm glad you agree. He loves people for who they are, ain't nothin' wrong with that.” Dean closed his eyes, like he was gathering his strength.

 

His voice was quieter now. “When he hauled me away from the Underground I was absolutely batshit for _weeks_. Couldn't hardly keep anything down, couldn't sleep from the nightmares and shit. He took care of me even when I was like that, all skin and bones and fuckin' fury. When I finally came back to myself I knew that there was no way I could ever repay him for what he'd done for me.” Ambrose leaned in close, his eyes searching your own. “But I figured somethin' out.”

 

“Figured out tha' I still have perfectly functionin' ears, I'd imagine.” Sheamus' voice caught you by surprise and you squeaked when his hands landed on your shoulders.

 

“They just wanted to know why you get all fucked up this time of year, Shea.”

 

“Then they can ask me themselves.” Sheamus didn't sound pleased.

 

Dean grunted. “No offense Shea, but you ain't exactly _approachable_ when you're like this.”

 

“Wha' happened earlier, with Baron?” Sheamus asked you instead, turning you to face him. “He harassin' ya'? If he was, he'll have a hard fuckin' time explainin' it t' Reigns.”

 

You shook your head, still somewhat bewildered. “Lost the cue ball again.” you mumbled, twisting your fingers. O'Shaunessy's face softened.

 

“I'm no' gonna' hurt ya', Mite.”

 

“I know.” you whispered. “I just wanted to hear the end of Dean's story.”

 

“...sorry I interrupted ya', Dean.” Sheamus said reluctantly after a moment. “Y' can finish, if ya' wan'.”

 

“Oh gee, thanks.” Ambrose grumbled, “forget it. S'not important anyhow. I'm beat. Hurry up and get your dinner in so we can get some rest.” he said to you. You raised an eyebrow. _We?_

 

You realized what he meant when Sheamus caught your attention at the top of the stairs, gesturing to your mattress. “S' cold ou' here tonigh'. We'll haul it in w' us. We go' the space heater in here. Or if ya' like we can share a bed.” he offered, a shadow of his familiar grin dancing across his mouth. You figured you were being teased and you lightly shoved his shoulder, giggling. A large hand twined through your own, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. “I’m serious.”

 

_Oh_. You clung to his hand, staring down at your fingers. He tugged your chin up. “It's a great help if I got'che an’ Ambrose close. I’m...I’m a bit of a wreck, this time a’ the year.” he confessed, “Cannae deal with it as good as I oughta’. Used t' be jus' me an' Dean, bu' ya' doin' a _hell_ of a job cheerin' me up. I appreciate it. That's why I'm offerin'. No' because I'm tryin' t' make ya' uncomfortable or anythin', yeah?”

 

Ambrose’s arms wrapped around Sheamus from behind and he rested his chin comfortably on the other man’s shoulder. “So am I draggin’ that in there or what?”

 

Once your mattress was positioned at the foot of their bed, you quickly settled in for the night. Sheamus sat beside your mattress for a while, speaking quietly to you about Thanksgiving. Dean hung off the end of their bed to listen, occasionally making noises of disapproval as Sheamus talked at length about his parents and leaving his home.

 

He finally reached the topic of Dean and Ambrose hid his face in his arms, obviously embarrassed.

 

“Foun’ this lil’ rat diggin’ through my fuckin’ garbage…damn near five years ago it is now. Christ. Ya’ would have thought he was a wolverine from th’ way he carried on. I grabbed ‘im ‘round the waist an’ hauled him inside ‘fore he could skedaddle back t’ the manhole cover.” Sheamus rumpled Dean’s hair fondly. “Lanky bastard. Wha’ an odd year, tryin’ to keep a handle on th’ damn man beast an’ run a business.”

 

“M’ glad you didn’t give up on me.” Dean mumbled, making Sheamus chuckle.

 

“How could I? One look at them eyes an’ I were a goner.”

 

“Shea kept me safe, even when Edge and Christian came callin’.” Dean explained to you. “Y’know, Gangrel’s guys. Shea sent them packin’.”

 

You gawked at Sheamus, impressed. Not many people could say they survived an encounter with Gangrel’s Brood. O'Shaunessy waved off Ambrose’s praise, clearing his throat. “Was hardly a fair fight.”

 

“This motherfucker right here, he went toe-to-toe with Gangrel’s bitches and he acted like it was nothin’ afterwards. His lip was all busted open, blood pourin’ from the side of his head and he just says ‘eh, better git started on the fookin’ biscuits’ and walks back into the kitchen!” Ambrose sputtered, his imitation of Sheamus making you burst out laughing.

 

Sheamus smiled wryly, getting to his feet. “Well Mite, I think I’ve pestered ya’ long enough. Get some rest, alrigh’?”

 

You nodded, still snickering as O'Shaunessy popped Ambrose gently on the side of the head. “Ya’ impressions are God fuckin’ awful, Ambrose.”

 

“Hey as long as one person thinks it’s funny, I’m safe.” Dean reasoned, catching Sheamus’ fist and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

 

…

 

Their room became your permanent residence, and as Thanksgiving drew closer Sheamus grew more and more clingy. Ambrose was apparently used to it, going out of his way to wrap an arm around his boyfriend's broad shoulders or press a quick kiss to the side of his head. You were unsure of how to handle the situation, especially since you didn't know where the boundaries were for you. Were you an employee? Not really, you didn't have that contract Ambrose spoke about. A friend? The two men treated you like a member of the family. Did that give you the same privileges as Dean when it came to touching Sheamus? Or were you supposed to be more passive because you were the newcomer in this instance?

 

You groaned in frustration, rubbing your eyes as you stood under the scorching spray of the shower. You wanted to look. You wanted to touch and taste every inch of both of them, figure out the noises Dean made when he was enjoying himself and learn what had Sheamus' voice so husky the other night when they were together.

 

“ _All you had to do was ask.” Dean settled in behind you in the shower, his lean torso pressed to your back. “We can give you a hell of a lot of info.” Hot fingers slid down your stomach to spread your thighs, and then Sheamus pulled aside the curtain._

 

“ _Christ, such an impatien' fuck.” He scolded Ambrose, who just rasped out a chuckle against your shoulder. Sheamus cupped your mound, making you sigh softly. “What a good one ya' are', getting' all warmed up for us like this.” he murmured, stroking himself while one of his fingers searched through your folds. “Ah, there it is.” Sheamus sounded proud, the pad of his index glancing across your clit and making you shudder. “Mm, y' no' quite ready yet, bu' I imagine we can fix tha'.”_

 

“ _Can't just rush into this shit, y'know.” Ambrose said quietly. Sheamus knelt in front of you, his facial hair brushing your thighs--_

 

A knock on the bathroom door shattered the illusion you had cooked up for yourself. Your voice cracked when you called, “I'll be out in a minute!”, shutting off the shower and stepping out of it on shaky legs. Your imagination was going to be the _death_ of you someday.

 

Sheamus wrapped you in a bear hug the second you opened the door, and you were terrified he heard the whimper you let out when his thigh slid briefly between your legs. It must have gotten muffled in his shirt, thankfully. “Mite, me an' Ambrose made up ya' contract. I'd like it if ya' stayed with us as a permanent fixture, if ya' can handle dealin' with us two.” he said, his smile the happiest one you'd seen in days.

 

_I'd like to 'handle' both of you, that's for sure_. You went bright red at your thoughts, nodding automatically and offering him a smile of your own. His words didn't register until he was thundering back down the stairs yelling “ _They said yeah Dean!_ ” Dean's responding holler of excitement made your eyes widen as it all sank in. You could stay. You were part of the group. _Officially_.

 

You rushed to the bedroom, yanking off the towel and throwing on some clothes. Then you ran down the steps two at a time, sliding to a stop on the kitchen floor. Dean and Sheamus both stood beside the butcher block, which was cleaned off except for a single sheet of paper and a pen. You flew across the kitchen to throw yourself into Dean's arms, peppering his face with kisses. He started laughing, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up in a tight hug. Sheamus kissed your forehead, grinning widely.

 

“Welcome t' th' Brogue Kick, Mite.”

 

…

 

You didn't mind the snow when you had a roof over your head. You sat in the foyer on the day before Thanksgiving and watched it come down. Your box from Regal was in your lap, and you busied yourself sorting through vibrant poinsettias and baby's breath.

 

“Dinnae snow like this back home.” Sheamus' voice was soft as he stood beside you, squinting out into the quickly-piling white. “Lotta' rain on th' island. Nae so much in Dublin, bu' in Kerry an' Donegal. Th' mountains.” His accent was thicker than usual.

 

You looked up worriedly and spotted him wiping his eyes. “I shouldn't still be all fuckin' twisted up insae abou' this shite.” he murmured. “Wound tigh' as a goddamn clock, jus' thinkin' abou' my Da's face when he threw me arse out like so much damn fuckin' _trash_.” His large hands clenched into fists and you quickly reached up, smoothing out the hand that you could reach until you were able to hold it with your own. Sheamus looked down, giving you a weak smile. “I'm alrigh'. It'll pass. Hurt always passes.”

 

“Figured I'd come join the party.” Dean drawled, letting Sheamus pull him into his side. The three of you just watched the snow for a little while, your hands gone still in your lap. Sheamus reached down to run his fingers through your hair and you nuzzled your cheek into his thigh. “I know it hurts, Shea.” Ambrose's tone was gentle. “Hurts and it sucks. But you've got us, right? We're not goin' _anywhere_ , okay? You can be as fucked up as you want. We're here for you no matter what.”

 

“Yeah.” O'Shaunessy mumbled. “I...yeah.” He ducked his forehead against Ambrose's shoulder, sniffling.

 

Dean sighed, cradling Sheamus to his chest like he was a child. You got to your feet, brushing off the over-sized rugby jersey you'd taken from Sheamus' drawer that morning and squeezing in between the two men. You cupped Sheamus' face in your hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He started crying openly at that and you hushed him. “Thank you.” you whispered, using your sleeve to wipe his tears away. “Thank you.”

 

The day was busy and Sheamus was melancholy, but apparently better than he'd been the last few years. Regal brought by a massive cornucopia made out of grapevine and you spent an hour or so fixing it up with raggedy daisies, leaves you'd saved from the snow and a lone, battered poinsettia. It sat on the bar now, spilling over in front of Officers Breeze and Fandango. They had stopped in to say hello and stayed for the next batch of _soup deeje or_ , busying themselves swapping stories with old Mr. Schyster. Irwin Schyster apparently only came in twice every year, once on the day before Thanksgiving and once on Christmas Eve.

 

“ _He's too cheap to justify comin' in any more than twice a year. Somethin' about taxes_.” Dean grunted when you gave him a look of confusion. “ _I dunno'._ ”

 

Zayn and Owens were fighting like the old married couple that they were over who was cheating at pool (they both cheated, but Owens was more obvious). Baron watched his coworkers tiff with a grin on his face, clearly used to their disputes. Reigns leaned over the bar propped up on his elbows, talking shop with Sheamus about custom drink ideas for Empire. The Irishman had opted to slick back his hair instead of spike it today. Overall he looked very fine, in a gray vest with dark orange accents.

 

Ambrose looked just as good, having opted for a white button-up to go with his black jeans. He'd enlisted your help to tame his hair somewhat as well, and he cut a very dashing figure.

 

_My boys clean up quite nicely_ , you thought with pride.

 

Big Cass, one of Reigns' dancers, had sidled up to you in the foyer where you were camped out sweeping the snow off of coats. “'Llo,” he said with a shy wave, “happy almost-Thanksgivin'.”

 

“Happy almost-Thanksgiving.” you replied, smiling up at him.

 

…

 

Sheamus sighed heavily, drying the last glass and tucking it back under the bar. He ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed it down his face. “No' as bad s'I expected.” he admitted. “Still pretty bad though.”

 

You had the feeling that he might have made his coffee a little stronger than usual, because he caught you around the waist in a tight hug and groaned, “Fuck’s sake,” into your hair.

 

Ambrose came back from locking up the doors for the evening, looking worried as he took in how the large redhead was draped over you. “You alright under there?” he asked, “he ain’t hurtin’ you, right?”

 

You shook your head, smiling reassuringly at him. Your hands slid to the pockets of Sheamus’ vest and you pulled him even closer, resting your head on his chest. He made a choking sound. “Christ, ya’ so tender sometimes it hurts.”

 

“That’s what they’re here for, boss. Me too.” Ambrose dragged a hand roughly through Sheamus’ hair, tilting his head back so he could kiss him. “Gotta’ tuck you in right.”

 

O’Shaunessy seemed lost, letting Dean guide him to the stairs. “Oh, bu’ th’ turkey.” he mumbled, moving towards the oven like he was going to break free. “I got'er prep it fo-”

 

“ _Fuck_ the turkey, Shea.” Ambrose grunted, “get in the bedroom and get your ass on that bed. _Now_.” The command from Dean sent a shiver down your spine and you automatically nodded, making Ambrose smirk at you. “I ‘spose you can give me a hand. We gotta’ wipe him out. Otherwise he won’t sleep.” he explained, Sheamus’ soft whine at his words making you go wide-eyed. “Gets like this every year. We gotta’ remind him he’s got a family. A family that wouldn’t exist if he hadn’t shown up. So _get_ in the _bedroom_ and let us _show you_.”

 

Dean’s voice quieted to a gravelly rasp that settled in the pit of your stomach. “Let us love you, Shea. We’re here.”

 

You climbed the stairs and opened the door to the bedroom. Sheamus staggered over the threshold, reaching out to you again. Ambrose snatched his hand before he could touch you, dragging Sheamus to him and catching him in a bruising kiss. His fingers started to fight with the button on his slacks. Sheamus moaned needily into the kiss. Timidly you went to work on Ambrose’s jeans, undoing them before he was done with Sheamus’.

 

Ambrose grunted, seeming surprised when he realized what you’d done. “You uh-“ You grazed your palm across the front of his boxers and his eyes closed. “Hey, we’re here for Shea, got it? You don’t have to touch _me_.” he said, sounding flustered.

 

You smiled up at him. “Want to.”

 

Sheamus made a noise in his throat when you said that, and a shudder ran through Dean’s body. He looked like he wanted to speak, licking his lips and raising a finger. “Uh,” he managed to get out eloquently after a moment.

 

You just kept gently rubbing your hand over Dean’s boxers, feeling him start to swell under your touch.

 

“S’nae fair.” Sheamus gasped, and you looked up to see him watching you intently. “Shouldn’t look so good wit’che hand on my boy’s cock.” Ambrose’s hand was already in Sheamus’ slacks, and after a moment you realized Dean was mimicking your pace.

 

“Gonna’ be a little tough to match if they start blowin’ me, but I’m sure I’ll figure out something.” Dean said breathlessly, biting his lip when Sheamus ran his fingers through your hair. “Only we can touch you, okay?” he continued to you, “only us.”

 

You nodded, mouthing over the front of Dean’s boxers and making Sheamus groan again. “Only you two.” you agreed, pressing a kiss to Dean's thigh.

 

“You hear ‘em, Shea? You hear me? We belong to you. You belong to us. We’re not goin’ anywhere.” Dean said firmly. “I want you fuckin’ beggin’ under us before the night is over, you got that? You’re _ours_. And I dunno’ about them, but I am a _possessive_ fucker.”

 

The idea of Sheamus coming undone beneath you sent a hot rush through your body. Ambrose, despite being “a possessive fucker”, seemed more than willing to share. As if to prove his point he tugged you to your feet and urged you to kiss O’Shaunessy.

 

“Get him ready for me, get him ready.” Dean practically vibrated with excitement, fumbling out of his pants and then cupping himself through his boxers as he watched Sheamus dominate your mouth. The large redhead may have been putty in Ambrose’s hands, but he was still more aggressive than you by a fair amount. Your hands fisted in the fabric of Sheamus’ vest and you whimpered into his mouth, pressing your body tight to his own.

 

“Oh God, ya’ are somethin’ else.” Sheamus murmured, sounding dazed.

 

Ambrose broke the two of you apart finally to grind his body against yours, carefully fucking his tongue in and out of your mouth and making you blush when he groaned that he could taste Sheamus.

 

The Irishman laid back on the bed, kicking his gray slacks off and unbuttoning his vest and shirt. Ambrose slipped a hand into your leggings, rubbing you through your underwear and whispering that you should tell Sheamus how it felt. The man in question was comfortably laid out on the bed, touching himself through his boxers.

 

“It’s s-so good-” You finally said, your voice so quiet that Ambrose grimaced in disappointment. The next thing you knew he wrapped his arm around your waist and hoisted you bodily onto the bed, on your back next to Sheamus.

 

“Try again.” Dean ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “Tell him. Is it good? Is it bad? Get that pretty little mouth of yours good and close to his ear. Let him hear you.”

 

You exhaled hard and felt Sheamus shudder, so you lifted your shoulders and moved even closer to him. Dean’s hand returned to your leggings, this time pulling them down and shoving your panties to the side. His fingers easily breached your slick entrance and you cried out softly as he curled them inside you. Wanton noises fell from your mouth, quiet but unchecked. You didn't think you could stop them even if you wanted to.

 

Sheamus gritted his teeth at your sounds, hips already stuttering under his hand. Ambrose reached over and swatted his hand away, grunting, “Not yet, you fuckin’ cheater. Not before you get a taste of this cute little pussy.”

 

Sheamus moaned helplessly, bucking his hips once more and then going still. “Can I...” he trailed off when you made a sobbing noise. Ambrose knew what he was doing, that was for sure, fingers dipping in and out of you like he’d done this a thousand times before. Sheamus cupped your cheek, catching your attention. “Would ya’ be alrigh’ wi’ tha’?” he asked softly.

 

You nodded hastily, and Dean pulled back so Sheamus was free to urge you up over his mouth. His facial hair tickled your thighs and you giggled, the noise dissolving into a moan at the first tentative roll of his tongue.

 

Ambrose was sporting a raging hard on at this point, but he seemed hell-bent on ignoring it in favor of making Sheamus squirm underneath you. The large redhead had wrapped his hands around your thighs, holding you still so he could drag his tongue down over your clit and entrance again and again. The _click_ of the lube cap made him go tense, his body flinching when Ambrose laid a hand gently on his knee.

 

Dean murmured calm noises, not even really words, and Sheamus relaxed again. You watched in awe as Sheamus whimpered underneath you, groaning out while Ambrose slowly opened him up with lube-slicked fingers. Dean looked about ready to bite a hole in his lip, his whole being focused on his task. You only noticed it hazily, too distracted by the way Sheamus’ sideburns rubbed against the inside of your thighs and his tongue lashed sloppily across your clit to really pay all that much attention to what Dean was doing. Sheamus certainly noticed though, if the way he was shifting and the sounds he was making in his throat were any indicator.

 

“Eyes on me.” Ambrose growled, blue eyes raising to lock with your half-lidded ones. “We’re gonna’ get him off, okay? Get him off _good_ , so he can fuckin’ sleep.”

 

You nodded, gasping when Dean caught your chin and pulled you forward into a kiss. “ _Damn_ , I’m into you,” he snarled, sounding a little perplexed. “Help me out here, okay?” He wrapped your fingers around Sheamus’ cock, now freely leaking precome onto his stomach from Ambrose’s careful ministrations. “Like that. It’s how he likes it. We’ll finish him once and _then_ we’ll have some fun with him.” Dean’s smirk was hungry, almost wolfish.

 

Sheamus’ tongue paused when you stroked his cock, the vibrations of his soft cry making you shiver over him. “Oh _Christ_.” he mumbled as Ambrose resumed his motions, scissoring and crooking his fingers a little less gently now. “Oh Christ, oh Christ oh fuck.”

 

“That's right, come for us.” Dean coaxed, “Come for us Shea, c'mon, let us love you. Let us love you.” His words washed over you, making your hips buck momentarily.

 

Sheamus shuddered and then groaned loudly, come spilling through your fingers as he came. You quickly leaned down, licking gently at the head of his cock and making his body twitch. He whimpered against your pussy and Ambrose moaned. “That was fuckin' beautiful, Shea. You did so good.” Dean praised, “I think he deserves a reward for comin' so sweet like that, doesn't he?” he asked you. You nodded, tracing your tongue across Sheamus' abdomen.

 

“Please, oh please please-” Sheamus begged, the words dissolving into incoherent babble as Dean moved back, heading for the door and yanking open the top drawer of their dresser on the way.

 

He rummaged for a minute then tossed you a bright red packet. “Get that on him, and then get on top of him. Slowly, though. Save some for me.” he said with a wink. “I gotta' wash my hands real quick.”

 

Sheamus waited patiently as you moved on shaky legs to straddle his thighs. Already he seemed more calm, his hands grasping your hips and holding you steady while you ripped open the condom packet. His cock was still hard, tapping against his stomach with every breath he took. “Ya' shiverin', Mite. This too much?” he asked, that dazed sound back as he looked up at you like you were the best thing he'd ever seen.

 

You laughed at his concern. You were shuddering because every motion felt like it rubbed pleasurably across your core. You were shaking because you were excited and nervous about finally being with the two of them this way. And you were shivering with the aftermath of having his mouth caress you. “Never.” you said simply, rolling the condom onto his cock and making his eyes close briefly.

 

You pressed your lips to his as he shifted up on the bed, his hands firm on your hips to keep you from sliding off. Then you rose onto your hands and knees and Sheamus sucked in a breath, his hand gripping the base of his cock. “Set down. M' all ready for ya'.” he pleaded when you didn't move.

 

“Dean asked me to be slow.” you murmured, your hands drifting to brace yourself against his flushed chest. “Nice and slow.” The head of his cock parted your folds and you sank down onto him, in one smooth and _impossibly_ slow stroke.

 

Sheamus gritted his teeth again, throwing his head back against the pillows when your hips were flush with his own. “O-oh _fuck's_ sake.” he groaned, his breath catching when you circled your hips. “ _Fuck's_ sake-”

 

You obediently kept the pace calm, loving the needy sounds you dragged out of Sheamus by shifting back and forth on his cock. He was panting, moaning for more and writhing underneath you. You felt the mattress dip behind you and you realized Ambrose must be back. His hands cupped your breasts from behind, squeezing them greedily.

 

“I'd like to play with these sometime, if you're agreeable.” Dean rasped in your ear, chuckling when you nodded quickly. “But for now, I think he's waited long enough. You really ought to get yourself off at least once on that thick cock of his. Isn't it fuckin' wonderful?” he continued brazenly, making you blush and Sheamus groan. “Switchin' off with this guy is _never_ a chore, lemme' tell you.” 

 

“ _Deyaan_.” You had never heard a more desperate voice in your life, Sheamus' burr slurring his speech almost to the point of nonsense. _“Lay d'hull_ -” The words were entirely foreign to you but you guessed they must be something like _please_ from the way Dean went still and quiet.

 

“Alright Shea, alright.” he said softly, doing something that made Sheamus cry out. After Dean's chest pressed flush against your back and Sheamus canted his hips up you understood, your body going hot when Sheamus made a raw sound of delight.

 

You planted your hands firmly on his chest, gasping as Dean rocked into Sheamus and jostled you. Dean, seeming to trust that Sheamus could handle him unsupervised for a minute, dug his fingers into your hips and raised you a few inches off Sheamus' cock, only to lower you back down quickly. “Ride that dick; we want him fuckin'  _exhausted_ .” Dean snarled against your shoulder. “Wear him the fuck out.”

 

His words made whatever timid strand that was holding you back snap and you settled firmly down on Sheamus' cock, a breathy moan escaping you when you realized that Dean fucking into Sheamus made Sheamus buck his hips up hungrily into  _you_ . You ground down forcibly onto him every time he stroked upwards, your lips popping open when he bottomed out inside you. He felt so  _good_ , just the right size. Big enough to feel later, but not enough to make you regret it.

 

Sheamus' hand caught the back of your neck and he dragged you to kiss him, whole body rocking with the depth of Ambrose's thrusts. “Jesus--fuckin'-” he sobbed, his other hand slipping down your stomach to rub your clit. “S' good, so  _fuckin'_ good Dean please-”

 

You dug your fingernails into his skin and rolled your hips, loving the way he shuddered. Ambrose was panting loudly in your ear, his hands tightly gripping Sheamus' hips behind your thighs to hold him still. “We're gonna' make him come again.” Dean grunted, “C'mon, use that sweet little pussy and get him off.”

 

Sheamus seemed to love when Dean spoke, the flush across his chest deepening when Ambrose egged you on. You cried out when the two of them thrust up at the same time and Sheamus rolled his index finger firmly over your clit, your orgasm shining bright behind your eyelids as you came around Sheamus' cock.

 

His hips fell out of rhythm with Ambrose and the Irishman licked his fingers clean, his eyes never leaving yours as you hunched over, shivering violently and still rocking back and forth. Ambrose paused momentarily to lift you off Sheamus, placing you gently on the bed beside him. Sheamus' hand fell to his cock and he exhaled hard when you snapped the condom off, wrapping your fingers around his own to finish him the second time.

 

He didn't last long, a few quick jerks and he spilled onto his abdomen, cock barely wilting. Sheamus moaned helplessly as you whispered praise in his ear and Ambrose began  _really_ pounding into him. He had apparently been holding back before.“That's right, that's right, take all of it.” Dean murmured soothingly, “look at how good you take me. Don't worry, we'll get you off. Third time's the charm, right Shea?”

 

Sheamus' voice cracked when he spoke next, more words you didn't understand. Dean seemed to though, nodding and buckling down. “You got it,” he panted, “I'll fuck you  _through_ the fuckin' mattress if that's what you want.”

 

O'Shaunessy's hips bucked, come dribbling out of his cock and then stopping as he started to come dry. You watched wide-eyed as he called out, whatever he was saying sounding desperate. The ragged, husky tone of his voice thrummed across your senses, making you shiver against his side.

 

Dean bared his teeth, his whole body put on powerful display while he fucked his boyfriend and permitted you to watch. You didn't think you would ever get over being grateful for this opportunity, and you rose up on your knees. “Thank you for this.” you said quietly, Ambrose's eyes half-closing under your gratitude.

 

It was probably more than he'd ever gotten from anyone besides Sheamus, so you weren't surprised when he looked down and panted, “ _Oh_ shit-” then pulled out and came on Sheamus' stomach with a satisfied moan.

 

Sheamus was a trembling mess, an arm thrown over his eyes while his chest heaved. He was crying softly. Ambrose wasn't much better, his arms shaking as he propped himself up and hushed him, crooning reassuringly that it was alright, that he was safe and nothing would happen to him. Without being told you began the task of quieting Sheamus down, resting his head carefully in your lap and running your fingers slowly through his hair. The redhead, properly tired out from you and Ambrose's  _resoundingly_ successful mission of the night, soon drifted off to sleep curled around you. The tears still shone on his face, but Ambrose shrugged off your worried look.

 

“I promise he's okay. Lots of emotion all bottled up and he just needs it fucked out of him sometimes so he can let it go and get some rest.”

 

Next came the hard part of cleaning him up without waking him again, but Dean managed the task admirably. He rumpled your hair after you untangled yourself from Sheamus' sleeping form. “Done damn good. Hit the showers, okay? I'll be there in a second.”

 

Your whole body ached pleasantly as you slumped against the wall of the shower, almost too tired to move when Dean got in with you. He chuckled and knelt in front of you, spreading your thighs as the hot water from the shower flowed over your body and soothed your aches. “Figured you wouldn't mind a nice, relaxin' shower with a little extra on the side.”

 

…

 

Waking up the next morning was one of the nicest experiences of your life, last night notwithstanding. Dean on one side, his arm flung over your ribs, and Sheamus pressed against your back snoring softly. The Irishman radiated heat like a furnace, and you snuggled back, luxuriating in the warmth of his embrace.

 

“G'mornin'.” he slurred after a minute, yawning loudly and rubbing at his eyes. “Dean. _Deyaaaaan_.” Sheamus groaned, sounding horrified. “Th' fuckin' _turkey_.”

 

“ _You're_ a fuckin' turkey.” Ambrose mumbled, pressing a finger to Sheamus' lips over your head. “Shush your ass. We'll order Chinese. Mite.” His finger lowered to tap your cheek. “Whatcha' thankful for. Tradition.”

 

“The two of you.” you said without missing a beat. Ambrose's eyes flew open and Sheamus cleared his throat. Both men seemed stunned silent for a few seconds. “You both taking me in and accepting me. That's what I'm thankful for.” you explained softly.

 

“Well uh.” Dean shut his mouth, teeth worrying at his lower lip. Sheamus wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you tighter against him.

 

“I'm thankful for you two. Because ya' didn't give up on me.” Sheamus paused, then tacked on sheepishly, “Oh! And I'm thankful, as always, for the Brogue Kick still standin'.”

 

“Hear hear.” Dean agreed, flopping his arm out in a makeshift toast gesture. “Ditto on you guys. Also, for the _soup deeje or_. And an extra helping of thankful for Mite. You pulled through like a trooper last night...early this morning...whenever.” He waved his hand, making you laugh. 

 

“Happy Thanksgivin'.” Sheamus rumbled in your ear, his facial hair tickling your neck. You sighed contentedly as Dean wrapped himself around the both of you and snuggled down into the blankets.

 

“Happy Thanksgiving.” you echoed softly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Translation Note: ‘Please’ in Gaelic. The proper spelling is Le d’thoil, but pronounced as if it was spelled Lay d’hull.)


End file.
